Page 12 of Crimes, Conspiracies, and Courtship (Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #1)
CHAPTER 11
W alters heaved a sigh of relief when the constable was a familiar face. He gave a description of the incident, explained that Lady Matilda was distraught, and promised to bring her statement to Bow Street the next day. Jones and Miss Talbot told the constable their versions, and the man was dragged away with assurances of keeping the crime quiet.
Walters would find out the names of the other men tomorrow. Skinny Man would surely give up the others or spend time in Newgate. His guess was the former. When he returned to the garden, he found Lady Matilda on the stone bench, her mantle wrapped around her again.
“Franny, you may wait for me in my bedchamber,” she told her lady’s maid in a no-argument tone. “Mr. Jones, thank you for your courage tonight. I will be sure my brother hears of it.”
“Thank you, miss,” he murmured before turning back toward the mews and his apartment on top. “I trust you’re in good hands, though I’m not sure what to call him.”
“It’s still Mr. Walters,” she reassured her driver. “Not a word of this to anyone, please.”
Lady Matilda turned her attention to him. Walters swallowed. Anger darkened her blue eyes, and he longed to kiss it away, make her smile and laugh again. He took a seat next to her, his stomach aching as he bent forward. Nothing broken, but he’d be demmed sore tomorrow.
“I understand the position you are in,” she began. “But I resent the charade. I want you to know that.”
He nodded, wishing there was something he could say to make the situation better, more favorable.
“I also appreciate what you’ve done for me, outside of tonight.”
His head jerked up, locking his gaze with hers. “I?—”
She placed a finger on his mouth and shook her head. “I need to say this. Before I met you, I was terrified of meeting new people, especially men. It wasn’t that I was frightened for my safety, but rather my reputation. Quiet people are often categorized as dull, which I’m not, of course. When I did speak, my nerves would increase, and I often stumbled, lending to the impression of being slow or simple.”
Walters blew out a breath, not wanting to hear this lovely and kind woman had been wretched even for a moment.
“My mother was so forceful in her attempts to ‘bring me out’ that it had quite the opposite effect. She reinforced my insecurities, her endeavors convincing me I wasn’t as good as the other girls.” She chewed on her bottom lip, then looked up at him, eyes shining.
“My brother loved me unconditionally, of course. Mama was never the affectionate type. But since coming to know you, my angst has abated. I’m able to keep a conversation going without stumbling and not feel as though I shall spill my accounts.” She smiled at him. A dazzling, heartbreaking smile that stole his breath. “Because of this, I have forged a better relationship with my mother. I realize she never saw me as inadequate but worried for my future, and I will face the upcoming Season with dread but not fear. And you are the reason for both of these miracles.”
Walters snorted. “There is an inner strength in you that you haven’t realized yet. There is more of your brother in you than you think.” He stood, then reached out and took her hand, pulling her up with him. The hell with propriety when he only had minutes left with Lady Matilda.
“I hate to agree with you,” she said, her voice trembling now, “but we cannot see each other again.”
He nodded, his heart hurting with each breath. Her eyes were downcast, the lashes a crescent against her cheek. And then a tear escaped, tracking its way down her face. On instinct, he reached out and caught it with his finger.
Her hand flew to his, pressing his palm to her cheek. “Though I am grateful for all this, I will ask a favor of you before you walk out of my life.”
His heart pounded fiercely. Could she hear it? How could he tell her that the uncertainty he took from her was internalized within him? The only time Walters did not feel sure of himself was with Lady Matilda. She put him off-kilter, muddled his mind, boiled his blood. No woman had ever affected him in this way. No woman ever would except for his?—
“Mattie,” he rasped, shocked her given name had slipped off his tongue. She still held his right hand, but the fingers of his left reached out to stroke her hair. He wanted to remember the silkiness of it, dream of her when he was alone, in the dark of the night.
“Kiss me, Harry,” she whispered. “I need to know what it feels like to be kissed with sincere affection. I’m afraid I may never have the experience with anyone else.”
“Then the men in your society are fools.” Walters slid his arm around her lower back and pulled her close. The contact, and the emotion of the moment, dulled the pain from his pummeling. His only thought was to make her happy.
He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his, the touch sending flames to his core. Unprepared for such a jarring sensation, he moaned against her mouth. He brushed her lips again, then pressed harder as her body melded into his. Easy. Be gentle.
But desire roared through him, and he pulled back, afraid his constraint would waver.
“You taste of honey and heaven,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’m a lucky man to have sampled such a combination before I die.”
“I was right, then? You do care for me?” Those ocean-blue orbs blinked up at him as if surprised at the revelation.
“If your brother wasn’t an earl, or I had a title, there would be nothing that could keep me away from you… Mattie.” He tossed out the guilt for using her pet name. This was a stolen moment, and he would pilfer every last second.
“I-I lov?—”
His mouth covered hers, not letting her say the words that would haunt them both forever. This kiss was not gentle. It conveyed all the regret and love and despair in his soul. He kissed her, this one and only time, like a lover. Her arms went around his neck, and she pressed against him, and he silently cursed his body’s instant reaction.
His tongue brushed the seam of her lips, and she opened them, giving him permission to explore. He slipped inside, fully tasting honey and heaven, knowing if his life were to end now, he would die a happy man. One hand cradled her face, the other moving up and down her back and over her hip. She whimpered against his mouth; her fingers twisted in his hair.
The sound of a door, a rustle of skirts. “My lady, your mother is still up, asking for you. I told her you were in the library,” Miss Tilbot whisper-shouted from the kitchen.
Walters scanned Mattie’s face, memorizing the high cheeks, the slight dent in her chin, the way her hair curled against her jaw. “You’d best find a mirror because right now you don’t look like you’ve been reading.”
Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. “What do I look like?”
“Like you’ve been thoroughly ravished.” He tried to smooth the hair on top of her head. “You better go.”
She nodded, still clinging to his neck. When she locked her gaze with his, she sucked in a deep breath. “Now I know.”
With that, she picked up her skirt and ran into the house.
* * *
Mattie stopped in the library to fetch a book and run up the stairs. She was breathless when she reached her mother’s sitting room. “You wanted to see me?”
“Heavens, my dear, what happened to you?” Her mother’s eyes were wide as she studied her daughter’s disheveled appearance. “Do you have a fever? You’re flushed.”
Mattie shook her head. “I fell asleep in the library, mussing my hair. Then I ran up the stairs when Franny told me that you needed me.” A twinge of guilt lit in her belly as she lied to her mother, but she certainly couldn’t tell her the truth.
“I just wanted to tell you that the new dresses are completed. We need to make an appointment for the fitting.”
“Any day good for you, Mama,” she said. It didn’t matter, for there would be no more outings with Mr. Walters to look forward to. She blinked back the hot tears. “Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, sweet daughter,” her mother murmured with a smile, then went back to her own book.
As soon as she’d left her mother’s bedchamber, she ran to her room and slammed the door shut. And crumpled to the ground like an empty grain sack.
So this was love. Glorious, heart-wrenching, and hopeless. She sobbed for finding it. She sobbed for losing it. She sobbed for the fleeting happiness that had been so callously snatched away.